Third-Person POVIn the month that followed, Lyle called Grace's number at the same times every morning, noon, and night. Every single time, the same cold, automated operator message played through the receiver, telling him that the number was unavailable. He combed through his contacts and messaged every one of their mutual friends to ask about her whereabouts. Not a single person knew where she had gone. Pamela showed up at his door with a thermal lunch box every day. Her eyes crinkled as she walked in. "I made your favorite chicken soup, Lyle. I bet you haven't been eating properly these days, keeping guard over this empty home."At first, he would take the lunch box and softly respond, "Thanks." Yet, as the days dragged on, the mere sight of Pamela began to irritate him. More often than not, he would merely give her a curt nod.One evening, Pamela brought over dinner as usual, rambling on about trivial matters. Lyle couldn't be bothered to listen to her, so he dismissed he
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